


Up, Up and Away

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9.14, Abusive John Winchester, Additional Scene, Gen, Thinman, Weechesters, batman!sam, superman!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The perks of staying in a dilapidated, abandoned house are few and far between; there’s no electricity, there’s no hot water, and there certainly isn’t any heating… But there is a drawer full of elastic bands, and a butt-ton of privacy. Also a shed. The shed, Sam gathers as they head outside, is very important.</p><p>Additional scene from 9.14: #thinman</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up, Up and Away

“What’s that?”

“What?”

“That.”

A chubby finger points at a plastic bag, appendage moving back and forth as wide, inquisitive eyes peer at the package. With a shrug, Dean Winchester pulls red and blue material from the sac. “Stuff.”

“What kinda stuff?”

“Stuff stuff.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Just stuff, okay?! Jesus Christ.”

Sam watches with a frown as his older brother shrugs off his jacket and t-shirt, slipping on a blue thing with a familiar ‘S’ logo. “Where’d you get that?” the five year-old asks.

“The store.”

“Did you get me Lucky Charms?”

“Wasn’t that kinda store.”

“Oh.”

Sam tracks Dean’s movements obsessively, climbing up on their bed with a little grunt, eyes never leaving his brother. Even though they managed to find an abandoned house with more than enough beds and room for everyone, Sam can’t imagine going to sleep without Dean beside him. After all, it’s his brother who protects him from the monsters.

He observes Dean reach into their duffle and pull out his pair of red underwear, face contorting into a mix of confusion and surprise as the elder wrestles them on over his baggy jeans. “Why’re you doing that?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Dude, one more question and I swear to God-”

“But Dean-”

“Just shut it, Sammy.”

So Sam is quiet. He’s quiet when Dean grabs a pair of long red socks from the plastic bag, tucking his pants into them and pulling ‘em all the way up, almost to his knees. He stays quiet when Dean tucks his shirt into his underpants, too… Even though it’s weird. But he can’t keep his silence when Dean pulls the red running shoes from the bag, ‘Converse’ logo glaring white against blood-coloured canvas. “Dad says you couldn’t have those.”

“Yeah, well, Dad also said to get new shoes.”

“He’s gonna be angry, Dean.”

“I’ll give ‘em back ‘fore he gets home. Here.” In Dean’s extended hand is a black pair, and Sam accepts the gift easily. The younger Winchester slips them on right away, complaining about laces before Dean leans down to tie them. Looking at the dirty blonde head at his feet, Sam can’t help thinking, for the thousandth time, that he has the best and coolest brother in the whole wide world.

When Dean retreats to the bathroom and comes out with a red towel cape, everything clicks.

“Superman!” Sam squeals, practically bouncing on the bed from sheer enthusiasm. “Dean, you’re a superhero!”

“Dean? Who’s Dean? Name’s Clark Kent, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes narrow with the seriousness only capable of a five year-old. “No you’re not,” he grins, trying to school his features. “Only Dean knows my name.”

“Don’t think so,” Dean replies, keeping up with the charade. “You’re a pretty famous guy.”

Beaming, Sam jumps off the bed, stopping just before his brother and looking a little bit hesitant. “Dean?” he asks quietly, like he’s sure but unsure all at the same time. Dean smiles.

“Yeah, Sammy, just me.”

The way Sam launches himself at Dean’s body makes the elder smile more widely, and he presses a casual kiss to the slowly growing mop of dark hair currently cuddling into his person. “I was just testing,” Sam mumbles as he pulls away.

“I know.”

Dean is just perfecting the knot of his towel-cape when Sam appears next to him wearing his Batman t-shirt. The thing is like a dress on him, his little legs poking out from the material and covered in dark corduroy, but Sammy is damn cute, cuter than Dean is willing to admit, so he doesn’t tease. Instead, he looks at his brother with a raised brow, frowning at Sam’s offered palms.

He’s holding a pair of scissors and one of Dad’s old black t-shirts.

“Batman has a mask,” Sam informs Dean matter-of-factly.

Dean dutifully takes the scissors.

The perks of staying in a dilapidated, abandoned house are few and far between; there’s no electricity, there’s no hot water, and there certainly isn’t any heating… But there is a drawer full of elastic bands, and a butt-ton of privacy. Also a shed. The shed, Sam gathers as they head outside, is very important.

“Stay here.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Okay.”

Dean climbs up onto the roof of the shed, easily jumping up on bales of hay until he hesitantly touches down onto the slightly rotting structure. It easily supports his weight, however, and the eldest Winchester looks ecstatic as he slowly stands straight, hands on his hips and chin raised high. “It’s a bird, it’s a plane, no, it’s-”

“Dean Winchester!”

Dean turns towards the squeaky voice, quickly moving to help Sam onto the roof when he slips, almost falling onto the ground below. “I thought I told you to stay down there,” he grunts, dragging his younger brother to safety as they sit side by side. Sam does little else but stare at Dean while the other rolls his eyes, turning back to the view: wild fields and country roads. “Dumbass.” It’s muttered affectionately, but Sam still frowns at the friendly nudge from his role model.

“That’s a bad word,” he says seriously.

“So?”

“So, dad’ll yell at you if I tell him you said it.”

“Will you tell him?”

“…No.”

“So shut up.”

Sam bites his lip before turning to the view as well. If Dean is looking, there must be something worthwhile to see. He nods for good measure. “Okay.”

There’s silence until the roof creaks. Dean shifts, carefully getting to his feet again as he bites a full bottom lip, peering over the side of the roof and onto the ground and sighing long and deep. Sam looks up at his brother. “What’re you doing?”

“Bein’ Superman,” Dean replies obviously. “What d’you think, genius?”

Looking over the side of the roof, Sam once again follows Dean’s gaze.

“It’s really high up here,” he comments, trying to mask his nervousness with a forced casual tone.

“So don’t look down.”

“…Superman Dean? I’m scared.”

That gives Dean pause, and the elder Winchester looks down at his younger counterpart, grinning brilliantly. “No you’re not,” he shrugs. “Batman doesn’t get scared.”

And with that, Dean Winchester leaps off the shed roof, the words ‘up, up, and away’ tumbling from his mouth as the wind catches his towel cape, making it flare out in all directions before he lands on the ground with a thump and roll, dad’s training kicking in at the last second. Sam, for one incredible second, is convinced his brother is actually flying.

So, naturally, he follows.

Because Sam would follow Dean to the ends of the Earth. He would follow him into the deepest depths of Hell, up a mountain, and certainly, 100%, off a shed roof.

Unfortunately, Sam’s five year-old reflexes are not as quick as his brother’s nine year-old ones.

With a sickening crack, he’s screaming bloody murder and Dean is rushing to his side, cape flapping in the air as he assesses the damage. “Sammy?! Sam, talk to me, dude.”

From the disgusting, unnatural angel of Sam’s left forearm, it becomes clear what the problem is.

The next thing Sam knows, he’s being carefully placed on the handlebars of the house’s spare bike, whimpering and crying as snot runs down his face and fat tears soak his mask. The eyeholes are all askew, and the bat ears consisting of tufts of material (tied with elastic bands) are drooping. Dean is muttering and murmuring things that Sam can’t really hear, things like: “c’mon, dude, you know Batman can’t fly,” and “it’s gonna be okay, Sammy, it’s all gonna be fine.” But what filtered through loud and clear was:

“Don’t worry, Batman, I got this. I got you. I’m driving the Batmobile fast as I can, Sammy, I promise. Just hang in there. I got you.”

Sam goes outside to get away from the yelling. He sits under the apple tree in the backyard, admiring all the superhero drawings Dean had covered his cast with, chubby fingers pressed over the barely formed squiggles he had contributed to the piece of art on his arm. He hears something break in the house but barely reacts, too little to truly understand what it means. Sam just doesn’t like the yelling.

When Dean pushes out of the house sometime later, taking the bike into town and ignoring his little brother’s questions, face down and away, Sam is upset. When he returns hours later with a beaten in face, Sam is horrified. The younger Winchester tries to get his dad and tell him, but John only takes one look at his sons before ruffling Sam’s hair and giving Dean a guilty look. He leaves again. Dean pulls out takeout bags from his backpack and sets the table for dinner.

That night, Sam curls up against Dean’s chest, little hands numb from holding ice in place. When Dean tries to take over, Sam gives him a serious ‘don’t fuck with me’ look, black mask pushed up onto his forehead adorably.

“I’m Batman,” he tells him simply, as if that explains everything.

 _And_ , Dean thinks, warmth exploding in his chest,  _it really kinda does_.


End file.
